NBA Commissioner Adam Silver is sitting in his office two weeks before the NBA All-Star Game and is reviewing choices for the pregame show, when a talent agent BURSTS into his room and says he has the perfect idea.

Talent Agent: “So, here’s what I’m thinking. Kevin Hart starts the show, and he welcomes the crowd to the 2018 NBA All-Star Game. He’s interrupted by actor Rob Riggle for some reason, who then attempts to “coach” him about what it takes to be an NBA All-Star for a long, terribly unfunny skit to really take the air out of any energy the crowd may have had for our exhibition game that has no stakes whatsoever. Riggle will have a coaching clipboard, a sweatshirt, a whistle the whole nine yards. He’ll make light of Kevin Hart’s height, he’ll be named coach, it will be marvelous.

Adam Silver: “That….that doesn’t sound too great, to be honest.”

Talent Agent: “But that’s not the end of it, oh no sir. Rob Riggle then introduces Jamie Foxx to the festivities.”

Adam Silver: “Ok, that doesn’t sound too bad. He’s an A-lister, could bring some good buzz to the pregame. What’s he going to do? Some comedy? Pump up the crowd?”

*2018 Super Bowl Winning Speech of the Year, as voted on by The Coggin Toboggan

Oh Mike Francesa, did somebody not get their nappy earlier this week? The sleepy, longtime radio personality (who is doing radio now more than ever after his retirement) decided his virgin ears were BESMIRCHED by Jason Kelce’s epic Super Bowl speech on the step’s of the Art Museum during last Thursday’s Super Bowl parade and called on Eagles owner Jeffrey Lurie to cut the Pro-Bowl center for his lewdness.

Francesa dropped his own, far-less entertaining rant on the WOR Sports Zone, and was most likely heard by dozens upon dozens of fans listening on their HAM radios.

I’ve been meaning to tell you guys something for a while now…I’m usually not one to beat around the bush, so I’ll just come out and say it. I’m a straight shooter, okay? I just come out and say what we want to say, you know? I don’t dance around things, I don’t hint, I don’t nudge, I just come right out and say it. Yes, I come right out and say what I truly believe, do you know what I’m saying?

It’s been a week and a half since the Eagles won the Super Bowl. The sun is shining just a bit brighter, the grass is just a bit greener, and the horse manure caked into Broad Street tastes just a little bit sweeter.

Nobody is complaining, everyone is getting along, the Flyers and Sixers are a combined 8-0 since the Eagles finally brought a Lombardi back to Philadelphia.

This city is jubilant, we’re all in great moods…does it feel wrong to anyone else?

I’m not saying it’s bad to be feeling this way, it just doesn’t feel RIGHT for Philadelphia.

The Eagles won Super Bowl LII. They won the Super Bowl. FUCKING FINALLY, they won the Super Bowl.

Last night I posted a heartfelt story about the win, about watching the game with my dad, my brother, my wife and wishing my other brother had been with us (instead of watching it in the city) to celebrate in our joy.

But that’s not us, right? That’s not The Coggin Toboggan. We have a “no hugging, no learning” rule like Seinfeld, but I figured we could at least break it for one night after a once in a lifetime moment.

Let’s get back to basics. Let’s get mean again, let’s get childish, let’s get back to our ROOTS as the most hated blog in Philadelphia.

Everyone in the franchise is thanking everyone for the Super Bowl win. God. Their family members. Belichick for inexplicably benching his start cornerback for no reason. It’s exhausting.

Who shouldn’t be thanked? Who deserves to be ridiculed and chastised for doing absolutely nothing for the franchise or the city? Here’s a running list of all those in franchise history who should NOT be thanked following last night’s Super Bowl victory:

Well that’s it for me. Good night. It’s been a great life. My wife is set up fine, my son had a good two years with me. That’s enough, right? A full life of fatherhood for my first born? Yes? Right? Definitely.

I’m dying right now. DYING. Six hours to go until the Super Bowl LII and I can’t concentrate on anything else. Sure I took my kid for a walk this morning, but I was obsessively checking twitter for Eagles updates as he silently judged me from the stroller for my shoddy parenting. Kid, I know, believe me….but give me one day of being an absentee father, it’s been 13 years since the Eagles were in the Super Bowl and I’m a little fucking distracted.

I can’t stop looking at the torn Eagles poster from the Inquirer we haphazardly put in our window before the playoff run. It has seen better days, especially considering my kid wants to play with it every second (and by play, I mean fling it over his head and stomp on it until he gets bored).

I tried to recall exactly what it was I was doing back in 2005 in the hours leading up to the game. I was a senior at SUNY Binghamton and I made the three-hour drive to come back home and watch it at my buddy Kevin’s apartment in Queen Village. I 100% was not going to watch it with my jackass college friends (all Giants fans) who would have been giving each other silent smirks as I melted down into a pool of blind rage throughout the second half.